


wage war on gravity

by ravens_tell_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anyways, Fluff, M/M, No Angst, Poetry, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, also jack accidentally isn’t in it, dean’s a dork, i am too braindead to write tags right now, i kinda maybe sorta forgot about him, if u want, im ignoring basically of s15, its cute, lots of fluff!!, not at all canon compliant don’t worry, read it, sorry ://
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravens_tell_stories/pseuds/ravens_tell_stories
Summary: “Alright. Okay. I got this. I’m Dean fuckin’ Winchester. I can talk to the guy I like, and I can read the poem I wrote, and everything will be fine. I got this.”Dean takes another deep breath, lets his insides fizzle with nerves for only a moment more, then calls out, “Hey, Cas? Can you come here for a minute?”~~drunk-dean gets an idea, sober-dean follows through with it, cas approves, sam ships it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96
Collections: Destiel Instagram One Shot Contest - November 2020





	wage war on gravity

**Author's Note:**

> (fall in love again and again and again)
> 
> hello!! i am choosing to completely ignore the finale and also pretty much just. everything. i have Given Up.
> 
> The good news is that I no longer get anxious about my writing, because I know nothing I write can possibly be worse than that godforsaken episode! (if u liked it you are valid i just. did not.)
> 
> Anyways this is set at no particular point in time, kind of post-s12 ish probably but, again, ignoring most of s15, so just like. Whenever. Idk.
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoy!! kudos and comments are, as always, appreciated :) <3

He’s drunk off his ass when he comes up with the idea.

Which makes sense, really - there’s no way Sober-Dean would ever think of this.

But when he wakes up the next morning, head pounding and throat dry and rancid, there’s a note open on his phone with the first few lines of a  _ love poem, _ of all fuckin’ things.

Dean reads the lines a few times, makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and goes to delete the note. Before his thumb hits the button, though, he pauses and tilts his head.

“Screw it,” he murmurs, closing the app and letting the note sit, untouched.

He manages to distract himself from the whole thing for a couple of days, until one night he’s tossing and turning in bed and the first line is echoing in his head.

Dean heaves a heavy sigh and reaches for his phone, thumbing open the notes app and staring at the two and a half lines until they start to swim in front of his eyes.

He doesn’t write any more, just sits silently and lets fragments of ideas flash back and forth through his mind.

Sam is, understandably, surprised when Dean approaches him the next day and asks, determined, “How do you write a poem?”

“Uh,” he says, wrinkling his brow and laughing a bit. “Why?”

“None of your business,” Dean snaps. “Just answer the question, Sammy.”

The younger Winchester raises his eyebrows. “Wha-- you’re serious?”

Dean gestures impatiently. Sam huffs a laugh and shrugs.

“Okay, fine, man, geez. You, uh - well there’s different types of poems, obviously, and depending on what sort of thing you’re writing it for it should have different rhymes, rhythms, things like that. So, uh, you’re gonna have to tell me what this is for, Dean.”

“ _ That’s _ not gonna happen. Just… what are some of the types, or whatever?”

Sam glares, but sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, there’s elegies, and odes, and sonnets--”

“Do I look like Shakespeare?” Dean interrupts, waving a hand around. “What do those mean?”

“Dude, honestly, just tell me what you’re trying to do here, and this whole thing will go a lot faster.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters after a long minute of silence. “It’s really none of your business, Sam.”

“Okay,” Sam shrugs. “Then figure it out on your own. I’m gonna go try and find us a case, if you need me--”

“I just wanna know how to write a love poem!” Dean blurts. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he scrunches his eyes up in humiliation and tries to fight back a blush.

When he opens his eyes a moment later Sam’s eyebrows are straining desperately for his hairline and his jaw is dropped open as if in shock.

“Stop making that stupid face at me,” Dean complains. “Just answer my question.”

“Well,” Sam finally says once he seems to have regained control over his facial muscles and his expression is back in check. “You’re gonna want a sonnet, probably, and there are a couple different ways to do those but the easiest is gonna be Shakespearean. Fourteen lines, four-four-four-two, and a rhyme scheme of A-B-A-B-C-D-C-D-E-F-E-F-G-G.”

Dean spreads his hands wide. “Again, Sam, not Shakespeare.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to put it any simpler than that. Why don’t you just look it up, man?”

“Because--” Dean starts, defensive. “Uh, because--”

Sam rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Because you didn’t think of it. Alright. Well, I’m gonna go find a job, you… do whatever it is you’re trying to do. Cas should be coming back tomorrow.”

Dean splutters. “Cas? Who said anything about Cas? Nobody was talking about Cas.”

“Yeah, sure. Have fun writing a poem for not-Cas.”

He wanders off towards the library, shaking his head like he can’t believe Dean could be so stupid - a sentiment which, at the moment, is shared by Dean.

Cas returns to the bunker late the next afternoon. He shares a brief hug with Dean, a briefer one with Sam, and then the three of them sit around the map table and sip at a couple of beers, making idle small talk. Around 4:30, Sam stretches and checks his watch.

“Shit, it’s later than I thought. Alright, I’m gonna head out,” he says, rising and moving to bring his empty bottle back to the kitchen.

Dean gives him a look. “Head out? Where you goin’?”

“Got a case, up in Wyoming. Coupl’a vamps, we think.”

“Well, gimme a minute to grab my stuff, and--”

Sam chuckles. “Uh, actually, you aren’t invited. Eileen’s meeting me up there. You two just… enjoy yourselves without me.” He saunters off to the kitchen.

Dean watches him go, face screwed with confusion. “I’m not  _ invited _ ?” he says, incredulous.

Cas chuckles from his seat next to him. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Sam meant it as an insult.”

“He better not have,” Dean huffs, ignoring the way his stomach flops pleasantly when Cas laughs again. He glances, without meaning to, at his phone where it sits on the edge of the table. He knows his notes app is still open, one full stanza written, and a small bead of shame bursts in his gut at the thought that anyone could flip open the phone and see it. He itches to erase the lines, close the app, but Cas is sitting close enough to peer over his shoulder - and besides, he had spent too damn long on those lines to get rid of them.

Although, tossing what he remembers of them back and forth in his mind, he has to admit it’s not the best poem he’s ever read. Not that he’s read many love poems, of course, but--

“How are you, Dean?” Cas interrupts his spiraling thoughts, giving him another smile that Dean can’t help but return.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m good,” he says. An odd urge comes over him to tell Cas about the poem, ask for advice, but that wouldn’t really work out too well. He takes a swig of beer instead, glancing over at Cas after another moment. “What about you, huh? Feel like we haven’t talked in forever. How’re you doing?”

Cas sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. “I am not unwell. Glad to be back h-- to the bunker.”

He corrects himself quickly, but Dean picks up on the slip. He pushes back in his chair and half-spins to try and catch the angel’s eyes. “Cas,” he says slowly, curling his hand into a fist to refrain from reaching out. “Man, you know the bunker is your home, too, right? You don’t haf’ta act like you aren’t allowed here. You’re family, Cas, you… we want you here, alright?”

Cas glances up from where he’s been studying the label on his beer bottle, eyes glittering slightly and a small smile flitting on his lips. The movement drops a few strands of hair in front of his eyes, and before Dean can stop himself one hand is moving forward to brush it back. Cas jolts at the touch, looking up with wide eyes, and Dean’s mind turns to a rush of curses and repetitions of  _ you fuckin’ idiot _ , but he can’t exactly back out now. He pushes the hair back, then pulls his hand back as fast as he can.

Despite Dean’s best efforts, they lock eyes. Cas’ are open, deep, and Dean’s fighting tooth and nail to keep himself from leaning in when Sam comes back into the room.

“Alright,” he says, and the men jump apart. “Uh… am I… interrupting something?”

“No,” Dean answers, clearing his throat. He can feel Cas’ gaze burning into the side of his head, and he lifts his bottle to take another drink. “You sure you don’t want any backup?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sam says slowly, still glancing between them suspiciously.

“Okay, well,” Dean waves dismissively, feeling a slight blush burning up his neck. “Have fun practicing your sign language, or whatever.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but waves goodbye and heads up the stairs and out the door.

Dean knocks on the table a couple of times, pushing his chair back and rising. “Hey, you wanna watch a movie or something?”

Cas shrugs, nodding, so Dean continues, “Cool, uh, why don’t you go pick something out and I’ll be in in a minute, with some grub?”

The angel nods again, pushing to his feet and heading for the hallway. Dean swipes his phone off the table and, once he’s sure Cas is out of the room, thumbs out a few notes for his next couple lines.

That night, after a fun - if slightly awkward - movie night, Dean finds himself sitting in bed with his phone screen glowing lightly, testing out rhymes and rhythms to see how they roll off his tongue. He has to google a few rhymes, and he isn’t perfectly happy with them once he’s finished, but he’s managed to write another stanza and he’s pretty dang proud of himself.

He sets his phone on his dresser and rolls onto his side, but his head is buzzing with too many thoughts and nerves for him to fall asleep. He’s had an idea flitting around since he started on this ridiculous thing, this project, or whatever, but he’s nervous. Still… it’s the truth, he figures, so he might as well go all out.

Dean opens the note, tests a couple of rhymes, and thumbs it in.

The final part comes to him a few days later, while he’s sulking in his room after he and Cas got in an argument over the coffee pot. His phone dings with a message from Sam, saying he and Eileen had found the problem and would be taking care of it that night, but had decided to take their time driving back, see the sights.

“Bitch,” Dean mutters, shooting back an okay. “See the sights my ass. Have fun--”

His lewd comment is cut off by a tentative knock on his door. Dean sighs, but calls out, “Yeah, Cas. You can come in.”

The door swings open and Cas shuffles in, looking guilty. “Hello, Dean.”

“Yeah. Look, man, I’m sorry for--”

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean. It was my fault.”

Dean shrugs. “Wasn’t either of our faults, really. Just got a bit impatient.”

It’s quiet, for a moment, and Dean thinks of all the times they’ve had to do this - apologize. Too dang many, if he’s being honest, and he’s hit with a wave of regret. The situation tickles into his mind, and before he knows what he’s doing his phone is in his mind and he’s typing out another line into his note.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

_ Shit _ . Dean clicks his phone off and tosses it across the bed quickly, shoving his hands under his knees to keep from reaching for it again. “Nothing.”

Cas tilts his head, brow furrowed. “It… looked like you were doing something.”

“Just, uh, making a note. About. Something.”

“About what?”

“Nothing, Cas, don’t worry about it. Hey, uh, Sammy said he’ll be back in a coupl’a days.”

That seems to distract Cas, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief a few moments later when he leaves without asking any more questions.

He keeps himself holed up in his room for most of the day, regretting the decision only when his stomach starts to grumble at him. He’d finished off the poem around noon, and nerves have been twisting him into knots ever since.

When it’s nearing two o’clock, Dean decides it’s time to suck it up and storms out of his room, almost running straight into Cas as he walks past.

“Dean! Are you alright?”

“Fuck. Yeah, Cas, I’m good. I, uh, I need - um - something to eat. I’ll be, uh, right back. Yeah.”

He all but sprints back down the hall toward the kitchen, desperate to put some space between himself and the angel. There, he leans back against the counter, running a hand over his face and fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“Alright. Okay. I got this. I’m Dean fuckin’ Winchester. I can talk to the guy I like, and I can read the poem I wrote, and everything will be  _ fine _ . I got this.”

Dean takes another deep breath, lets his insides fizzle with nerves for only a moment more, then calls out, “Hey, Cas? Can you come here for a minute?”

Soft footsteps pad towards him, with Cas’ voice accompanying them. “Is everything alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, man, I just… I gotta tell you something.”

He clears his throat, only letting himself glance up at Cas for a second, and then focusing in on his phone.

“What is it?”

“So, uh, I guess I just…” there’s no way around the embarrassment of this situation, he knows. He might as well just go for it. “I wrote you something. And I wanted to, y’know, read it to you. If that’s… okay.”

There’s what sounds like a confused smile in Cas’ voice. “Of course.”

Dean coughs again, still avoiding looking at Cas, and begins to read.

_ “Blue eyes so deep I could drown in their depths _

_ Dark hair, always ruffled as if by wind _

_ A smile like the sun over the steppes _

_ My angel saved me from a life of sin _

_ Raised me from perdition, is what you said _

_ You seared my skin and marked my very soul. _

_ In the next years you gave up all you led _

_ All for a man who’d lost all his control. _

_ With no effort you lit this blazing flame _

_ Erasing all of who I used to be. _

_ Too many times I’ve pinned you with the blame _

_ When really there was no one wrong but me. _

_ I think what I’m saying you always knew _

_ But just in case, I’ll tell you that I love you.” _

His heart beating way faster than he thinks is healthy, and his voice starts to break a bit on the last line, but he gets it all out. He can be proud of that, he tells himself, no matter what happens in the next few minutes.

Dean slips his phone back into his pocket, still keeping his gaze down, and starts to fiddle with the cuffs of his flannel. It’s a new one, blue and green, and still a little stiff at the edges.

Cas remains silent.

A long, long moment passes that way. Dean’s too nervous to count the seconds, but he thinks that if he weren’t there would be a lot of them.

Finally, there’s the slow, tentative click of Cas’ shoe on the tile.

Dean snaps his head up, fully expecting to see the angel walking away, but instead they lock eyes.

Cas is smiling. His eyes are shining with barely concealed joy, and he’s smiling that rare gummy smile of his, and he’s walking towards Dean.

_ Towards _ Dean. Not away. That’s unexpected.

“You aren’t, like, about to smite the hell outta me, right? I didn’t royally piss you off?”

Cas chuckles, dropping his head, and takes a few long strides to cross most of the room.

“No, Dean,” he rumbles as he draws close. “Quite the opposite, really.”

Before Dean can ask what exactly that means, Cas is leaning forwards to rest his hands on the counter to either side of where Dean rests.

Dean’s breath catches. “Are you--”

Cas’ lips press to his, cutting him off with a sweet and soft kiss. They stand there like that for a moment, pressed together everywhere they can be.

When Cas pulls back, he’s still smiling, but it’s smaller now, softer. He presses another little kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose, eyes crinkling with joy when a blush spreads across the hunter’s face.

“I love you too, Dean,” he whispers, eyes gleaming.

“Well,” Dean huffs, somewhere between relief and incredulity. “That’s good. Woulda been pretty embarrassing for me, pouring my heart out like that, if you didn’t.”

They stand silently, just looking at each other, for another long moment. They’re both smiling now, and Dean figures they must look like doofuses, but he can’t bring himself to care all that much. He doesn’t think anything could drag him away from this moment.

At least, not until his stomach rumbles again.

Cas chuckles at him, taking a couple of steps back but letting their hands brush together. Dean pouts and twines their fingers together.

“You should eat, Dean. You haven’t had any food all day.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. I just don’t wanna stop lookin’ at you.”

He does, eventually, drag himself to make some scrambled eggs and eats them with gusto. That night, he and Cas sit closer than they ever have for another movie night, curled in each other’s arms, and when Sam and Eileen return a few days later just in time to catch them making out on the map table, the four of them share a moment of silent joy.

For the first time in a long time, they’re all actually, all the way happy.


End file.
